Author . 




Title 



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1904- 



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By W. 


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THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 



The Merry-go-round 

By W/ Somerset Maugham 




NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

1904 



I 

- 

1 wo Codas Receive* 

SEP 19 1904 

~ Cawnehl Erty 
CLASS CI XXo. No. 

?SU7 

' COPY /t 



COPYRIGHT, SEPT., 1904, BY 
W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM 






5 



PART ONE 



y 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

CHAPTER I 

ALL her life Miss Elizabeth Dwarris had been a sore 
trial to her relations. A woman of means, she 
ruled tyrannously over a large number of impe- 
cunious cousins, using her bank-balance like the scorpions 
of Rehoboam to chastise them, and, like many another pious 
creature, for their soul's good making all and sundry exces- 
sively miserable. Nurtured in the evangelical ways current 
in her youth, she insisted that her connections should seek 
salvation according to her own lights; and, with harsh tongue 
and with bitter gibe, made it her constant business to persuade 
them of their extreme un worthiness. She arranged lives as 
she thought fit, and ventured not only to order the costume 
and habits, but even the inner thought of those about her: 
the Last Judgment could have no terrors for any that had 
faced her searching examination. She invited to stay with 
her in succession various poor ladies who presumed on a dis- 
tant tie to call her Aunt Eliza, and they accepted her sum- 
mons, more imperious than a royal command, with gratitude 
by no means unmixed with fear, bearing the servitude meekly 
as a cross which in the future would meet due testamentary 
reward. 

Miss Dwarris loved to feel her power. During these long 
visits — for, in a way, the old lady was very hospitable — she 
made it her especial object to break the spirit of her guests ; and 
it entertained her hugely to see the mildness with which were 
borne her extravagant demands, the humility with which 
every inclination was crushed. She took a malicious pleas- 
ure in publicly affronting persons, ostensibly to bend a sinful 

3 



4 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

pride, or in obliging them to do things which they particu- 
larly disliked. With a singular quickness for discovering 
the points on which they were most sensitive, she attacked 
every weakness with blind invective till the sufferer writhed 
before her, raw and bleeding: no defect, physical or mental, 
was protected from her raillery, and she could pardon as lit- 
tle an excess of avoirdupois as a want of memory. Yet, with 
all her heart, she despised her victims, she 'flung in their face 
insolently their mercenary spirit, vowing that she would 
never leave a penny to such a pack of weak fools ; it delighted 
her to ask for advice in the distribution of her property among 
charitable societies, and she heard, with unconcealed hilarity, 
their unwilling and confused suggestions. 

With one of her relations only, Miss Dwarris found it need- 
ful to observe a certain restraint, for Miss Ley, perhaps the 
most distant of her cousins, was as plain-spoken as herself, 
and had, besides, a far keener wit whereby she could turn rash 
statements to the utter ridicule of the speaker. Nor did 
Miss Dwarris precisely dislike this independent spirit; she 
looked upon her in fact with a certain degree of affection and 
not a little fear. Miss Ley, seldom lacking a repartee, ap- 
peared really to enjoy the verbal contests, from which, by 
her greater urbanity, readiness, and knowledge, she usually 
emerged victorious: it confounded, but at the same time 
almost amused, the elder lady that a woman so much poorer 
than herself, with no smaller claims than others to the cov- 
eted inheritance, should venture not only to be facetious at 
her expense, but even to carry war into her very camp. 
Miss Ley, really not grieved to find some one to whom without 
prickings of conscience she could speak her whole mind, took 
a grim pleasure in pointing out to her cousin the poor logic 
of her observations or the foolish unreason of her acts. No 
cherished opinion of Miss Dwarris was safe from satire — even 
her evangelicism was laughed at, and the rich old woman, un- 
used to argument, was easily driven into self-contradiction; 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 5 

and then — for the victor took no pains to conceal her 
triumph — she grew pale and speechless with rage. The quar- 
rels were frequent, but Miss Dwarris, though it was a sharp 
thorn in her flesh that the first advances must be made by 
her, in the end always forgave; yet at last it was inevitable 
that a final breach should occur. The cause thereof, character- 
istically enough, was very trivial. 

Miss Ley, accustomed, when she went abroad in the winter, 
to let her little flat in Chelsea, had been obliged by unfore- 
seen circumstances to return to England while her tenants 
were still in possession ; and had asked Miss Dwarris whether 
she might stay with her in Old Queen Street. The old tyrant, 
much as she hated her relations, hated still more to live alone; 
she needed some one on whom to vent her temper, and through 
the illness of a niece, due to spend March and April with her, 
had been forced to pass a month of solitude; she wrote back, 
in the peremptory fashion which, even with Miss Ley, she could 
not refrain from using, that she expected her on such and such 
a day by such and such a train. It is not clear whether there 
was in the letter anything to excite in Miss Ley a contradic- 
tory spirit, or whether her engagements really prevented it; 
but, at all events, she answered that her plans made it more 
convenient to arrive on the day following and by a different 
train. Miss Dwarris telegraphed that, unless her guest came 
on the day and at the hour mentioned in her letter, she 
could not send the carriage to meet her, to which the younger 
lady replied concisely: "Don't." 

"She's as obstinate as a pig," muttered Miss Dwarris, read- 
ing the telegram; and she saw in her mind's eye the thin 
smile on her cousin's mouth when she wrote that one indif- 
ferent word. "I suppose she thinks she's very clever." 

Her hostess greeted Miss Ley, notwithstanding, with a cer- 
tain grim affability reserved only for her ; she was, at all events, 
the least detestable of her relations, and, though neither 
docile nor polite, at least was never tedious. Her conversa- 



6 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

tion braced Miss Dwarris so that with her she was usually at 
her best, and sometimes, forgetting her overbearing habit, 
showed herself a sensible and entertaining woman, of not al- 
together unamiable disposition. 

"You're growing old, my dear," said Miss Dwarris, when 
they sat down to dinner, looking at her guest with eyes keen 
to detect wrinkles and crowsfeet. 

"You flatter me," Miss Ley retorted; "antiquity is the 
only excuse for a woman who has determined on a single 
life." 

"I suppose, like the rest of them, you would have married 
if any one had asked you." 

Miss Ley smiled. 

"Two months ago an Italian prince offered me his hand 
and heart, Eliza." 

"A Papist would do anything," replied Miss Dwarris. "I 
suppose you told him your income and he found he'd mis- 
judged the strength of his affections." 

"I refused him because he was so virtuous." 

"I shouldn't have thought at your age you could afford to 
pick and choose, Polly." 

"Allow me to observe that you have an amiable faculty 
of thinking of one subject at one time in two diametrically 
opposed ways." 

Miss Ley was a slender woman of middle size, her hair, 
very plainly arranged, beginning to turn gray, and her face, 
already much wrinkled, by its clear precision of feature in- 
dicating a comfortable strength of character; her lips, thin 
but expressive, mobile, added to this appearance of deter- 
mination. She was by no means handsome, and had cer- 
tainly never been pretty; but her carriage was not without 
grace nor her manner without fascination. Her eyes were 
very bright and so shrewd as sometimes to be almost discon- 
certing: without words, they could make pretentiousness 
absurd; and most affectatious, under that searching glance, 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 7 

part contemptuous, part amused, willingly hid themselves. 
Yet, as Miss Dwarris took care to remind her, she was not 
without her own especial pose, but it was carried out so ad- 
mirably, with such a restrained, comely decorum, that few 
observed it, and such as did found not the heart to condemn: 
it was the perfect art that concealed itself. To execute this 
aesthetic gesture, it pleased Miss Ley to dress with the great- 
est possible simplicity, usually in black, and her only orna- 
ment was a renaissance jewel of such exquisite beauty that 
no museum would have disdained to possess it : this she wore 
around her neck attached to a long gold chain, and she fin- 
gered it with pleasure to show, according to her plain-spoken 
relative, the undoubted beauty of her hands. Her well-fitting 
shoes and the elaborate open-work of her silk stockings sug- 
gested also a not unreasonable pride in a shapely foot, small 
and high of instep. Thus attired, when she had visitors, 
Miss Ley sat in an oak, Italian straight-backed chair, deli- 
cately carved, which was placed between two windows 
against the wall; and she cultivated already a certain prim- 
ness of manner which made very effective the audacious 
criticism of life wherewith she was used to entertain her 
friends. 

Two mornings after her arrival in Old Queen Street, Miss 
Ley announced her intention to go out. She came down- 
stairs with a very fashionable parasol — a purchase on her way 
through Paris. 

"You're not going out with that thing?" cried Miss 
Dwarris, scornfully. 

"I am indeed." 

"Nonesense; you must take an umbrella. It's going to 
rain." 

" I have a new sunshade and an old umbrella, Eliza: I feel 
certain it will be fine." 

"My dear, you know nothing about the English climate. 
I tell you it will pour cats and dogs." 



8 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"Fiddlesticks, Eliza." 

"Polly," answered Miss D warns, her temper rising. "I 
wish you to take an umbrella. The barometer is going down, 
and I have a tingling in my feet, which is a sure sign of wet. 
It's very irreligious of you to presume to say what the weather 
is going to be." 

"I venture to think that, meteorologically, I am no less ac- 
quainted with the ways of Providence than you." 

"That I think is not funny, but blasphemous, Polly. In 
my house, I expect people to do as I tell them, and I insist on 
your taking an umbrella." 

"Don't be absurd, Eliza." 

Miss Dwarris rang the bell and, when the butler appeared, 
ordered him to fetch her own umbrella for Miss Ley. 

"I absolutely refuse to use it," said the younger lady, 
smiling. 

"Pray remember that you are my guest, Polly." 

"And, therefore, entitled to do exactly as I like." 

Miss Dwarris rose to her feet, a massive old woman of com- 
manding presence, and stretched out a threatening hand. 

" If you leave this house without an umbrella, you shall not 
come into it again. You shall never cross this threshold so 
long as I am alive." 

Miss Ley cannot have been in the best of humours that 
morning, for she pursed her lips in the manner already char- 
acteristic of her, and looked at her elderly cousin with a cold 
scorn, most difficult to bear. 

"My dear Eliza, you have a singularly exaggerated idea 
of your importance. Are there no hotels in London? You 
appear to think I stay with you for pleasure rather than to 
mortify my flesh. And, really, the cross is growing too heavy 
for me, for I think you must have quite the worst cook in the 
metropolis." 

"She's been with me for five and twenty years," answered 
Miss Dwarris, two red spots appearing on her cheeks, "and 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 9 

no one has ventured to complain of the cooking before. If 
any of my guests had done so, I should have answered that 
what was good enough for me was a great deal too good for 
any one else. I know that you're obstinate, Polly, and quick- 
tempered, and this impertinence I am willing to overlook. 
Do you still refuse to do as I wish?" 

"Yes." 

Miss Dwarris rang the bell violently. 

"Tell Martha to pack Miss Ley's boxes at once, and call a 
four-wheeler," she cried, in tones of thunder. 

"Very well, Madam," answered the butler, used to his 
mistress's vagaries. 

Then Miss Dwarris turned to her guest, who observed her 
with irritating good-humour. 

"I hope you realise, Polly, that I fully mean what I say." 

"All is over between us," answered Miss Ley, mockingly, 
"and shall I return your letters and your photographs?" 

Miss Dwarris sat for a while, in silent anger, watching her 
cousin, who took up the Morning Post, and, with great calm- 
ness, read the fashionable intelligence. Presently the butler 
announced that the four-wheeler was at the door. 

"Well, Polly, so you're really going?" 

"I can hardly stay when you've had my boxes packed and 
sent for a cab," replied Miss Ley, mildly. 

"It's your own doing; I don't wish you to go. If you'll 
confess that you were headstrong and obstinate, and if you'll 
take an umbrella, I am willing to let bygones be bygones." 

"Look at the sun," answered Miss Ley. 

And, as if actually to annoy the tyrannous old woman, the 
shining rays danced into the room and made importunate 
patterns on the carpet. 

"I think I should tell you, Polly, that it was my intention 
to leave you ten thousand pounds in my will. This inten- 
tion I shall, of course, not now carry out." 

"You'd far better leave your money to the Dwarris peo- 



io THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

pie: upon my word, considering that they've been related 
to you for over sixty years, I think they thoroughly deserve 
it." 

"I shall leave my money to whom I choose," cried Miss 
Dwarris, beside herself; "and if I want to I shall leave every 
penny of it in charity. You're very independent because 
you have a beggarly five hundred a year, but, apparently, it 
isn't enough for you to live without letting your flat when 
you go away. Remember, that no one has any claims upon 
me, and I can make you a rich woman." 

Miss Ley replied with great deliberation. 

"My dear, I have a firm conviction that you will live for 
another thirty years to plague the human race in general and 
your relations in particular. It is not worth my while, on 
the chance of surviving you, to submit to the caprices of a 
very ignorant old woman, presumptuous and overbearing, 
dull and pretentious." 

Miss Dwarris gasped and shook with rage, but the other 
proceeded without mercy. 

"You have plenty of poor relations — bully them. Vent 
your spite and ill-temper on those wretched sycophants, but 
pray in future spare me the infinite tediousness of your con- 
versation." 

Miss Ley had ever a discreet passion for the rhetorical, and 
there was a certain grandiloquence about the phrase which 
entertained her hugely. She felt that it was unanswerable, 
and, with great dignity, walked out. No communication 
passed between the two ladies, though Miss Dwarris, peremp- 
tory, stern, and evangelical to the end, lived in full possession 
of her faculties for another twenty years. She died at last 
in a passion occasioned by some trifling misdemeanour of her 
maid ; and as though a heavy yoke were removed from their 
shoulders, her family heaved a deep and unanimous sigh of 
relief. 

They attended her funeral with dry eyes, looking still with 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND n 

silent terror at the leaden coffin which contained the re- 
mains of that harsh, strong, domineering old woman. Then, 
nervously expectant, they begged the family solicitor to dis- 
close her will. Written with her own hand, and witnessed 
by two servants, it was in these terms: 

"I, Elizabeth Ann Dwarris, of 79, Old Queen Street, 
Westminster, Spinster, hereby revoke all former Wills 
and Testamentary Dispositions, made by me and declare 
this to be my last Will and Testament. I appoint Mary 
Ley, of 72, Eliot Mansions, Chelsea, to be the executrix 
of this my Will, and I give all my real and personal prop- 
erty whatsoever to the said Mary Ley. To my great- 
nephews and great-nieces, to my cousins near and re- 
mote, I give my blessing; and I beseech them to bear 
in mind the example and advice which for many years I 
have given them. I recommend them to cultivate in 
future strength of character and an independent spirit; 
I venture to remind them that the humble will never 
inherit this earth, for their reward is to be awaited in the 
life to come; and I desire them to continue the subscrip- 
tions which, at my request, they have so long and gener- 
ously made to the Society for the Conversion of the Jews 
and to the Additional Curates Fund. 

"In witness whereof, I have set my hand to this my 
Will the 4th day of April, 1883. 

"Elizabeth Ann Dwarris." 

To her amazement, Miss Ley found herself at the age of fifty- 
seven in possession of nearly three thousand pounds a year, 
the lease of a pleasant old house in Westminster, and a great 
quantity of early Victorian furniture. The will was written 
two days after her quarrel with the eccentric old woman, and 
the terms of it certainly achieved the three purposes for which 
it was designed: it occasioned the utmost surprise to all con- 
cerned; it heaped coals of fire on Miss Ley's indifferent head;: 
and caused the bitterest disappointment and vexation to all 
that bore the name of Dwarris. 



PART II 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

CHAPTER I 

Miss Ley returned to England at the end of February. 
Unlike the most of her compatriots, she did not go abroad to 
see the friends with whom she spent much time at home ; and 
though Bella and Herbert Field were at Naples, Mrs. Murray 
in Rome, she took care systematically to avoid them. Rather 
was it her practice to cultivate chance acquaintance, for she 
thought the English in foreign lands betrayed their idiosyn- 
crasies with a pleasant and edifying frankness ; in Venice, for 
example, or at Capri, the delectable isle, romance might be 
seized, as it were, in the act, and all manner of oddities were 
displayed with a most diverting effrontery: in those places 
you meet middle-aged pairs, uncertainly related, whose vehe- 
ment adventures startled the decorum of a previous genera- 
tion; you discover how queer may be the most conventional, 
how ordinary the most eccentric. Miss Ley, with her discreet 
knack for extracting confidence, after her own staid fashion 
enjoyed herself immensely; she listened to the strange con- 
fessions of men who for their souls' sake had abandoned the 
greatness of the world, and now spoke of their past zeal with 
indulgent irony, of women who for love had been willing to 
break down the very pillars of heaven, and now shrugged 
their shoulders in amused recollection of passion long since 
dead. 

"Well, what have you fresh to tell me?" asked Frank, hav- 
ing met Miss Ley at Victoria, when he sat down to dinner in 
Old Queen Street. 

"Nothing much. But I've noticed that when pleasure has 
exhausted a man he's convinced that he has exhausted pleas- 

15 



1 6 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

ure; then he tells you gravely that nothing can satisfy the 
human heart." 

But Frank had more important news than this, for Jenny, a 
week before, was delivered of a still-born child, and had been 
so ill that it was thought she could not recover; now, how- 
ever, the worst was over, and if nothing untoward befell, she 
might be expected slowly to regain health. 

"How does Basil take it?" asked Miss Ley. 

"He says very little; he's grown silent of late, but I'm afraid 
he's quite heart-broken. You know how enormously he 
looked forward to the baby." 

"D'you think he's fond of his wife?" 

"He's very kind to her. No one could have been gentler 
than he after the catastrophe. I think she was the more cut 
up of the two, You see, she looked upon it as the reason of 
their marriage — and he's been doing his best to comfort her.'' 

"I must go down and see them. And now tell me about 
Mrs. Castillyon." 

"I haven't set eyes on her for ages." 

Miss Ley observed Frank with deliberation. She wondered 
if he knew of the affair with Reggie Bassett, but, though eager 
to discuss it, would not risk to divulge a secret. In point of 
fact, he was familiar with all the circumstances, but it amused 
him to counterfeit ignorance that he might see how Miss Ley 
guided the conversation to the point she wanted. She spoke 
of the Dean of Tercanbury, of Bella and her husband, then, as 
though by chance, mentioned Reggie; but the twinkling of 
Frank's eyes told her that he was laughing at her stratagem- 

"You brute ! " she cried, "why didn't you tell me all about 
it, instead of letting me discover the thing by accident?" 

"My sex suggests to me certain elementary notions of 
honour, Miss Ley." 

"You needn't add priggishness to your other detestable 
vices. How did you know they were carrying on in this 
way?" 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 17 

"The amiable youth told me. There are very few men who 
can refrain from boasting of their conquests, and certainly 
Reggie isn't one of them." 

"You don't know Hugh Kearon, do you? He's had affairs 
all over Europe, and the most notorious was with a royal 
princess who shall be nameless ; I think she would have bored 
him to death if he hadn't been able to flourish ostentatiously 
a handkerchief with a royal crown in the corner and a large 
initial." 

Miss Ley then gave her account of the visit to Rochester, 
and certainly made of it a very neat and entertaining story. 

"And did you think for a moment that this would be the 
end of the business?" asked Frank, ironically. 

"Don't be spiteful because I hoped for the best." 

"Dear Miss Ley, the bigger blackguard a man is, the more 
devoted are his lady-loves. It's only when a man is decent 
and treats women as if they were human beings that he has a 
rough time of it." 

"You know nothing about these things, Frank," retorted 
Miss Ley. "Pray give me the facts, and the philosophical 
conclusions I can draw for myself." 

"Well, Reggie has a natural aptitude for dealing with the 
sex. I heard all about your excursion to Rochester, and went 
so far as to assure him that you wouldn't tell his mamma. 
He perceived that he hadn't cut a very heroic figure, so he 
mounted the high horse, and, full of virtuous indignation, for 
a month took no notice whatever of Mrs. Castillyon. Then 
she wrote most humbly, begging him to forgive her; and this, 
I understand, he graciously did. He came to see me, flung 
the letter on the table, and said: 'There, my boy, if any one 
asks you, say that what I don't know about women ain't worth 
knowing.' Two days later he appeared with a gold cigarette- 
case !" 

"What did you say to him ? " 



1 8 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"One of these days you'll come the very devil of a crop- 
per. 

"You showed wisdom and emphasis. I hope with all my 
heart, he will." 

"I don't imagine things are going very smoothly," pro- 
ceeded Frank. "Reggie tells me she leads him a deuce of a 
life, and he's growing restive; it appears to be no joke to have 
a woman desperately in love with you. And then he's never 
been on such familiar terms with a person of quality, and he's 
shocked by her vulgarity; her behaviour seems often to out- 
rage his sense of decorum." 

"Isn't that like an Englishman! He cultivates propriety 
even in the immoral." 

Then Miss Ley asked Frank about himself, but they had 
corresponded with diligence, and he had little to tell ; the work 
at Saint Luke's went on monotonously, lectures to students 
three times a week and out-patients on Wednesday and Satur- 
day; people were beginning to come to his consulting -room 
in Harley Street, and he looked forward, without great enthu- 
siasm, to the future of a fashionable physician. 

"And are you in love?" 

"You know I shall never permit my affections to wander 
so long as you remain single," he answered, laughing. 

"Beware I don't take you at your word and drag you by 
the hair of your head to the altar. Have I no rival ? " 

"Well, if you press me, I will confess." 

"Monster! what is her name?" 

" Bilharzia Holmatobi." 

"Good heavens !" 

"It's a parasite I'm studying. I think authorities are all 
wrong about it; they've not got its life-history right, and the 
stuff they believe about the way people catch it is sheer footle." 

"It doesn't sound frightfully thrilling to me, and I'm under 
the impression you're only trumping it up to conceal some 
scandalous amour with a ballet-girl." 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 19 

Miss Ley's visit to Barnes seemed welcome neither to Jenny 
nor to Basil, who looked harassed and unhappy, and only with 
a visible effort assumed a cheerful manner when he addressed 
his wife. Jenny was still in bed, very weak and ill, but Miss 
Ley, who had never before seen her, was surprised at her 
great beauty; her face, whiter than the pillows against which 
it rested, had a very touching pathos, and, notwithstanding 
all that had gone before, that winsome, innocent sweetness 
which has occasioned the comparison of English maidens to 
the English rose. The observant woman noticed also the 
painful, questioning anxiety with which Jenny continually 
glanced at her husband, as though pitifully dreading some 
unmerited reproach. 

"I hope you like my wife," said Basil, when he accom- 
panied Miss Ley downstairs. 

' ' Poor thing ! She seems to me like a lovely bird imprisoned 
by fate within the four walls of practical life, who should by 
rights sing careless songs under the open skies. I'm afraid 
you'll be very unkind to her." 

"Why?" he asked, not without resentment. 

"My dear, you'll make her live up to your blue china tea- 
pot. The world might be so much happier if people wouldn't 
insist on acting up to their principles." 

Mrs. Bush had been hurriedly sent for when Jenny's con- 
dition seemed dangerous, but, in her distress and excitement, 
she had sought solace in Basil's whiskey-bottle to such an 
extent that he was obliged to beg her to return to her own 
home. The scene was not edifying. Surmising an alcoholic 
tendency, Kent, two or three days after her arrival, locked 
the side-board and removed the key. But in a little while 
the servant came to him. 

" If you please, sir, Mrs. Bush says, can she 'ave the whiskey ; 
she's not feelin' very well." 

"I'll go to her." 

Mrs. Bush sat in the dining-room with folded hands, doing 



2o THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

her utmost to express on a healthy countenance maternal 
anxiety, indisposition, and ruffled dignity; she was not vastly 
pleased to see her son-in-law instead of the expected maid. 

"Oh, is that you, Basil?" she said; "I can't find the side- 
board key anywhere, and I'm that upset I must 'ave a little 
drop of something." 

"I wouldn't if I were you, Mrs. Bush. You're much 
better without it." 

"Oh, indeed !" she answered, bristling. "P'raps you know 
more about me inside feelings than I do myself. I'll just 
trouble you to give me the key, young man, and look sharp 
about it. I'm not a woman to be put upon by any one, and 
I tell you straight." 

"I'm very sorry, but I think you've had quite enough to 
drink. Jenny may want you, and you would be wise to keep 
sober." 

"D'you mean to insinuate that I've 'ad more than I can 
carry?" 

"I wouldn't go quite so far as that," he answered, smiling. 

"Thank you for nothing," cried Mrs. Bush indignantly. 
"And I should be obliged if you wouldn't laugh at me, and I 
must say it's very 'eartless with me daughter lying ill in her 
bedroom. I'm very much upset and I did think you'd treat 
me like a lady, but you never 'ave, Mr. Kent — no, not even the 
first time I come here. Oh, I 'aven't forgot, so don't you 
think I 'ave — a sixpenny 'alfpenny teapot was good enough 
for me, but when your lady -friend come in out pops the silver, 
and I don't believe for a moment it's real silver. Blood's all 
very well, Mr. Kent, but what I say is, give me manners. 
You're a nice young feller, you are, to grudge me a little drop 
of spirits when me poor daughter's on her death-bed. I 
wouldn't stay another minute in this 'ouse if it wasn't for 'er." 

"I was going to suggest it would be better if you returned 
to your happy home in Crouch End," answered Basil, when 
the good woman stopped to take breath. 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 21 

"Were you, indeed! Well, we'll just see what Jenny 'as 
to say to that. I suppose my daughter is mistress in 'er own 
'ouse." 

Mrs. Bush started to her feet and made for the door, but 
Basil stood with his back against it. 

"I can't allow you to go to her now. I don't think you're 
in a fit state." 

"D'you think I'm going to let you prevent me? Get out 
of my way, young man." 

Basil, more disgusted than out of temper, looked at the 
angry creature with a cold scorn which was not easy to 
stomach. 

"I'm sorry to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Bush, but I think 
you'd better leave this house at once. Fanny will put your 
things together. I'm going to Jenny's room, and I forbid you 
to come to it. I expect you to be gone in half an hour." 

He turned on his heel, leaving Mrs. Bush furious but intimi- 
dated. She was so used to have her own way that opposition 
took her aback, and Basil's manner did not suggest that he 
would easily suffer contradiction. But she made up her mind, 
whatever the consequences, to force her way into Jenny's 
room, and there set out her grievance. She had not done 
repeating to herself what she would say when the servant 
entered to state that, according to her master's order, she had 
packed Mrs. Bush's things. Jenny's mother started up indig- 
nantly, but pride forbade her to let the maid see she was 
turned out. 

"Quite right, Fanny ! This isn't the 'ouse that a lady would 
stay in, and I pity you, my dear, for 'aving a master like my 
son-in-law. You can tell 'im with my compliments that 'e's 
no gentleman." 

Jenny, who was asleep, woke at the slamming of the front- 
door. 

"What's that?" she asked. 

"Your mother has gone away, dearest. D'you mind?" 



22 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

She looked at him quickly, divining from knowledge of her 
parent's character that some quarrel had occurred and anxious 
to see that Basil was not annoyed. She gave him her hand. 

" No, I'm glad. I want to be alone with you. I don't want 
any one to come between us." 

He bent down and kissed her, and she put her arms round 
his neck. 

"You're not angry with me because the baby died ? " 

"My darling, how could I be?" 

"Say that you don't regret having married me." 

Jenny, realising by now that Basil had married her only 
on account of the child, was filled with abject terror; his 
interests were so different from hers (and she had but gradually 
come to understand how great was the separation between 
them) that the longed-for son alone seemed able to preserve 
to her Basil's affection. It was the mother he loved, and now 
he might bitterly repent his haste, for it seemed she had forced 
marriage upon him by false pretenses. The chief tie that 
bound them was severed, and though with meek gratitude 
accepting the attentions suggested by his kindness, she asked 
herself with aching heart what would happen on her recovery. 

Time passed, and Jenny, though ever pale and listless, 
grew strong enough to leave her room. It was proposed that 
in a little while she should go with her sister for a month to 
Brighton; Basil's work prevented him from leaving London 
for long, but he promised to run down for the week-end. One 
afternoon he came home in high spirits, having just received 
from his publishers a letter to say that his book had found 
favour and would be issued in the coming spring. It seemed 
the first step to the renown he sought. He found James 
Bush, his brother-in-law, seated with Jenny, and, in his elation, 
greeted him with unusual cordiality; but James lacked his 
usual facetious flow of conversation, and wore indeed a hang- 
dog air, which at another time would have excited Basil's 
attention. He took his leave at once, and then Basil noticed 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 23 

that Jenny was much disturbed. Though he knew nothing 
for certain, he had an idea that the family of Bush came to 
his wife when they were in financial straits, but from the be- 
ginning had decided that such inevitable claims must be sat- 
isfied; he preferred, however, to ignore the help which Jenny 
gave, and, when she asked for some small sum beyond her al- 
lowance, handed it without question. 

"Why was Jimmie here at this hour?" he asked, care- 
lessly, thinking him bound on some such errand. "I thought 
he didn't leave his office till six." 

"Oh, Basil, something awful has happened ! I don't know 
how to tell you; he's sacked." 

"I hope he doesn't want us to keep him," answered Basil, 
coldly. "I'm very hard up this year, and all the money I 
have I want for you." 

Jenny braced herself for a painful effort. She looked away 
and her voice trembled. 

"I don't know what's to be done. He's got into trouble. 
Unless he can find a hundred and fifteen pounds in a week, his 
firm are going to prosecute." 

"What on earth d'you mean, Jenny?" 

"Oh, Basil, don't be angry ! I was so ashamed to tell you, 
I've been hiding it for a month; but now I can't any more. 
Something went wrong with his accounts." 

"D'you mean to say he's been stealing?" asked Basil, 
sternly; and a feeling of utter horror and disgust came over 
him. 

"For God's sake, don't look at me like that ! " she cried, for 
his eyes, his firm-set mouth, made her feel a culprit confessing 
on her own account some despicable crime. "He didn't 
mean to be dishonest. I don't exactly understand, but he 
can tell you how it all was. Oh, Basil, you won't let him be 
sent to prison ! Couldn't he have the money instead of my 
going away?" 

Basil sat down at his desk to think out the matter, and, 



24 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

resting his face thoughtfully on his hands, sought to avoid 
Jenny's fixed, appealing gaze ; he did not want her to see the 
consternation, the abject shame, with which her news oppressed 
him. But all the same she saw. 

"What are you thinking about, Basil?" 

"Nothing particular. I was wondering how to raise the 
money." 

"You don't think because he's my brother I must be tarred 
with the same brush?" 

He looked at her without answering; it was certainly un- 
fortunate that his wife's mother should drink more than was 
seemly and her brother have but primitive ideas about 
property. 

"It's not my fault," she cried, with bitter pain, interrupt- 
ing his silence. "Don't think too hardly of me." 

"No, it's not your fault," he answered, with involuntary 
coldness. "You must go away to Brighton all the same, but 
I'm afraid it means no holiday in the summer." 

He wrote a cheque and then a letter to his bank begging 
them to advance a hundred pounds on securities they held. 

"There he is," cried Jenny, hearing a ring. "I told him 
to come back in half an hour." 

Basil got up. 

"You'd better give the cheque to your brother at once. 
Say that I don't wish to see him." 

"Isn't he to come here any more, Basil?" 

"That is as you like, Jenny. If you wish, we'll pretend he 
was unfortunate rather than — dishonest; but I'd rather he 
didn't refer to the matter. I want neither his thanks nor his 
excuses." 

Without answering, Jenny took the cheque. She would 
have given a great deal to fling her arms gratefully round 
Basil's neck, begging him to forgive, but there was a hardness 
in his manner which frightened her. All the evening he sat 
in moody silence, and Jenny dare not speak; his kiss when 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 25 

he bade her good-night had never been so frigid, and, unable 
to sleep, she cried bitterly. She could not understand the 
profound abhorrence with which he looked upon the incident ; 
to her mind, it was little more than a mischance occasioned 
by Jimmie's excessive sharpness, and she was disposed to agree 
with her brother that only luck had been against him. She 
somewhat resented Basil's refusal to hear any defence and 
his complete certainty that the very worst must be true. 

A few days later, coming unexpectedly, Kent found Jenny 
in earnest conversation with her brother, who had quite re- 
gained his jaunty air and betrayed no false shame at Basil's 
knowledge of his escapade. 

"Well met, 'Oratio!" he cried, holding out his hand. "I 
just come in on the chance of seeing you. I wanted to thank 
you for that loan." 

"I'd rather you didn't speak of it." 

"Why, there's nothing to be ashamed of. I 'ad a bit of 
bad luck, that 's all. I'll pay you back, you know; you 
needn't fear about that." 

He gave a voluble account of the affair, proving how mis- 
fortune may befall the deserving, and what a criminal com- 
plexion the most innocent acts may wear. Basil, against 
his will admiring the fellow's jocose effrontery, listened with 
chilling silence. 

"You need not excuse yourself," he said, at length. "My 
reasons for helping you were purely selfish. Except for 
Jenny, it would have been a matter of complete indifference 
to me if you had been sent to prison or not." 

"Oh, that was all kid! They wouldn't have prosecuted. 
Don't I tell you they had no case. You believe me, don't 
you?" 

"No, I don't." 

"What d'you mean by that?" asked James, angrily. 

"We won't discuss it." 



26 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

The other did not answer, but shot at Basil a glance of 
singular malevolence. 

"You can whistle for your money, young feller," he mut- 
tered, under his breath. "You won't get much out of me." 

He had but small intention of paying back the rather large 
sum, but now abandoned even that. During the six months 
since Jenny's marriage he had never been able to surmount 
the freezing politeness with which Basil used him; he hated 
him for his supercilious air, but, needing his help, took care, 
though sometimes he could scarcely keep his temper, to pre- 
serve a familiar cordiality. He knew his brother-in-law 
would welcome an opportunity to forbid him the house, and 
this, especially now that he was out of work, he determined 
to avoid; he stomached the affront as best he could, but 
solaced his pride with the determination sooner or later to 
revenge himself. 

"Well, so long," he cried, with undiminished serenity, 
"I'll be toddling." 

Jenny watched this scene with some alarm, but with more 
irritation, since Basil's frigid contempt for her brother 
seemed a reflection on himself. 

"You might at least be polite to him," she said, when 
Jimmie was gone. 

"I'm afraid I've pretty well used up all my politeness." 

"After all, he is my brother." 

"That is a fact I deplore with all my heart," he answered. 

"You needn't be so hard on him now he's down. He's no 
worse than plenty more." 

Basil turned to her with naming eyes. 

"Good God, don't you realise the man's a thief! Doesn't 
it mean anything to you that he's dishonest ? Don't you see 
how awful it is that a man — " 

He broke off with a gesture of disgust. It was the first 
quarrel they ever had, and a shrewish look came to Jenny's 
face, her pallor gave way to an angry flush. But quickly 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 27 

Basil recovered himself; recollecting his wife's illness and 
her bitter disappointment at the poor babe's death, he keenly- 
regretted the outburst. 

"I beg your pardon, Jenny. I didn't mean to say that. 
I should have remembered you were fond of him." 

But, since she did not answer, looking away somewhat 
sulkily, he sat down on the arm of her chair and stroked her 
wonderful, rich tresses. 

"Don't be cross, darling. We won't quarrel, will we?" 

Unable to resist his tenderness, tears came to her eyes, and 
passionately she kissed his caressing hands. 

"No, no," she cried. "I love you too much. Don't ever 
speak angrily to me; it hurts so awfully." 

The momentary cloud passed, and they spoke of the ap- 
proaching visit to Brighton. Jenny was to take lodgings, 
and she made him promise faithfully that he would come 
every Saturday. Frank had offered a room in Harley Street, 
and while she was away Basil meant to stay with him. 

"You won't forget me, Basil?" 

"Of course not! But you must hurry up and get well 
and come back." 

When at length she set off, and Basil found himself Frank's 
guest, he could not suppress a slight sigh of relief; it was very 
delightful to live again in a bachelor's rooms, and he loved 
the smell of smoke, the untidy litter of books, the lack of re- 
sponsibility: there was no need to do anything he did not 
like, and, for the first time since his marriage, he felt entirely 
comfortable. Recalling his pleasant rooms in the Temple — 
and there was about them an old-world air which amiably 
fitted his humour — he thought of the long conversations of 
those days, the hours of reverie, the undisturbed ease with 
which he could read books; and he shuddered at the pokey 
villa which was now his home, the worries of housekeeping, 
and the want of privacy. He had meant his life to be so 
beautiful, and it was merely sordid. 



28 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"There are advantages in single blessedness," laughed the 
Doctor, when he saw Basil after breakfast light his pipe and, 
putting his feet on the chimney-piece, lean back with a sigh 
of content. 

But he regretted his words when he saw on the other's 
mobile face a look of singular wistfulness: it was his first 
indication that things were not going very well with the young 
couple. 

"By the way," Frank suggested, presently, "would you 
care to come to a party to-night ? Lady Edward Stringer 
is giving some sort of function, and there'll be a lot of people 
you know." 

"I've been nowhere since my marriage," Basil answered, 
irresolutely. 

"I shall be seeing the old thing to-day. Shall I ask if I 
can bring you?" 

"It would be awfully good of you. By' Jove, I should en- 
joy it." He gave a laugh. "I've not had evening clothes 
on for six months." 



CHAPTER XV 

Six months went by, and again the gracious airs of summer 
blew into Miss Ley's dining-room in Old Queen Street. She 
sat at luncheon with Mrs. Castillyon wonderfully rejuvenated 
by a winter in the East; for Paul, characteristically anxious 
to combine self -improvement with pleasure, had suggested 
that they should mark their reconciliation by a journey to 
India, where they might enjoy a second, pleasanter honey- 
moon, and he at the same time study various questions which 
would be to him of much political value. Mrs. Castillyon, in 
a summer frock, had all her old daintiness of a figurine in. 
Dresden china, and her former vivacity was more charming 
by reason of an added tenderness ; she emphasised her change 
of mind by allowing her hair to regain its natural colour. 

"D'you like it, Mary?" she asked. "Paul says it makes 
me look ten years younger. And I've stopped slapping up." 

"Entirely?" asked Miss Ley, with a smile. 

"Of course, I powder a little, but that doesn't count; and 
you know, I never use a puff now — only a leather. You 
can't think how we enjoyed ourselves in India, and Paul's a 
perfect duck. He's been quite awfully good to me, I'm sim- 
ply devoted to him, and I think we shall get a baronetcy at 
the next birthday honours." 

"The reward of virtue." 

Mrs. Castillyon coloured and laughed. 

"You know, I'm afraid I shall become a most awful prig, 
but the fact is it's so comfortable to be good and to have 
nothing to reproach one's self with. . . . Now tell me 
about every one. Where did you pass the winter?" 

" I went to Italy as usual ; and my cousin Algernon, with his 
daughter, spent a month with me, at Christmas." 

29 



3 o THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"Was she awfully cut up at the death of her husband?" 

There was really a note of genuine sympathy in Mrs. Cas- 
tillyon's voice, so that Miss Ley realised how sincere was the 
change in her. 

"She bore it very wonderfully, and I think she's curiously 
happy; she tells me that she feels constantly the presence of 
Herbert." Miss Ley paused. "Bella has collected her hus- 
band's verses, and wishes to publish them, and she's written 
a very touching account of his life and death by way of 
preface." 

"Are they any good?" 

"No; that's just the tragedy of the whole thing. I never 
knew a man whose nature was so entirely poetical, and yet 
he never wrote a line which is other than mediocre. If he'd 
only written his own feelings, his little hopes and disappoint- 
ments, he might have done something good; but he's only 
produced pale imitations of Swinburne and Tennyson and 
Shelley. I can't understand how Herbert Field, who was 
so simple and upright, should never have turned out a single 
stanza which wasn't stilted and forced. I think in his heart 
he felt that he hadn't the gift of literary expression, which 
has nothing to do with high ideals, personal sincerity, or the 
seven deadly virtues, for he was not sorry to die. He only 
lived to be a great poet, and before the end realised that he 
would never have become one." 

Miss Ley saw already the pretty little book which Bella 
would publish at her own expense, the neat type and wide 
margin, the dainty binding; she saw the scornful neglect of 
reviewers, and the pile of copies which eventually Bella would 
take back and give one by one as presents to her friends, who 
would thank her warmly, but never trouble to read ten lines. 

"And what has happened to Reggie Bassett?" asked 
Grace, suddenly. 

Miss Ley gave her a quick glance, but the steadiness of 
Mrs. Castillyon's eyes told her that she asked the question 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 31 

indifferently, perhaps to show how entirely her infatuation 
was overcome. 

"You heard that he married?" 

"I saw it in the Morning Post." 

"His mother was very indignant, and for three months 
refused to speak to him. But at last I was able to tell her 
that an heir was expected ; so she made up her mind to swal- 
low her pride, and became reconciled with her daughter-in-law, 
who is a very nice, sensible woman." 

' ' Pretty ? " asked Grace . 

"Not at all, but eminently capable. Already she has made 
Reggie into quite a decent member of society. Mrs. Bassett 
has now gone down to Bournemouth, where the young folks 
have taken a house, to be at hand when the baby appears." 

"It's reassuring to think that the ancient race of the 
Barlow-Bassetts will not be extinguished," murmured Grace, 
ironically. "I gathered that your young friend was settling 
down because one day he returned every penny I had — lent 
him." 

"And what did you do with it?" asked Miss Ley. 

Grace flushed and smiled whimsically. 

"Well, it happened to reach me just before our wedding- 
day so I spent it all in a gorgeous pearl pin for Paul. He 
was simply delighted." 

Mrs. Castillyon got up, and, when she was gone, Miss Ley 
took a letter that had come before luncheon, but which her 
guest's arrival had prevented her from opening. It was 
from Basil, who had spent the whole winter on Miss Ley's 
recommendation in Seville; she opened it curiously, for it 
was the first time he had written to her since, after the in- 
quest, he left England. 

"My Dear Miss Ley: Don't think me ungrateful if 
I have left you without news of me, but at first I felt I 
could not write to people in England ; whenever I thought 
of them everything came back, and it was only by a des- 



32 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

perate effort that I could forget. For some time it 
seemed to me that I could never face the world again, 
and I was tormented by self-reproach ; I vowed to give 
up my whole life to the expression of my deep regret, and 
fancied I could never again have a peaceful moment or 
anything approaching happiness. But presently I was 
ashamed to find that I began to regain my old temper; 
I caught myself at times laughing contentedly, amused 
and full of spirits ; and I upbraided myself bitterly be- 
cause, only a few weeks after the poor girl's death, I could 
actually be entertained by trivial things. And then I 
don't know what came over me, for I could not help the 
thought that my prison door was opened; though I 
called myself brutal and callous, deep down in my soul 
arose the idea that the fates had given me another chance. 
The slate was wiped clean, and I could start fresh. I 
pretended even to myself that I wanted to die, but it 
was sheer hypocrisy — I wanted to live and to take life 
by both hands and enjoy it. I have such a desire for 
happiness, such an eager yearning for life in its fulness 
and glory. I made a ghastly mistake, and I suffered for 
it; heaven knows how terribly I suffered and how hard 
I tried to make the best of it. And perhaps it wasn't 
all my fault — even to you I feel ashamed of saying this; 
I ought to go on posing decently to the end — in this world, 
we're made to act and think things because others have 
thought them good; we never have a chance of going 
our own way; we're bound down by the prejudices and 
the morals of all and sundry. For God's sake, let us be 
free. Let us do this and that because we want to and 
because we must, not because other people think we 
ought. And d'you know the worst of the whole thing? 
If I'd acted like a blackguard and let Jenny go to the 
dogs, I should have remained happy and contented and 
proseperous; and she, I daresay, wouldn't have died. 
It's because I tried to do my duty that all this misery 
came about. The world held up an ideal, and I thought 
they meant one to act up to it : it never occurred to me 
that they would only sneer. 

"Don't think too badly of me because I say these 
things; they have come to me here, and it was you who 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 33 

sent me to Seville; you must have known what effect 
it would have on my mind, tortured and sick. It is a 
land of freedom, and at last I have become conscious of 
my youth. How can I forget the delight of wandering 
in the Sierpes, released from all imprisoning ties, watch- 
ing the various movements as though it were a stage- 
play, yet half afraid that a falling curtain would bring 
back the unendurable reality. The songs, the dances, 
the happy idleness of orange-gardens by the Guadal- 
quivir, the gay turbulence of Seville by night: I could 
not long resist it, and at last forgot everything but that 
time was short and the world was to the living. 

" By the time you get this letter I shall be on my way 
home. Yours ever, 

"Basil Kent." 

Miss Ley read this letter with a smile and gave a little sigh. 

"I suppose at that age one can afford to have no very con- 
spicuous sense of humour," she murmured. 

But she sent Basil a telegram asking him to stay, with the 
result that three days later the young man arrived, very 
brown after his winter in the sunshine, healthy, and better- 
looking than ever. Miss Ley had invited Frank to meet him 
at dinner, and the pair of them, with the cold unconcern of 
anatomists, observed what changes the intervening time had 
wrought on the impressionable nature. Basil was in high 
spirits, delighted to come back to his friends; but a discreet 
soberness, underlying his vivacity, suggested a more com- 
posed temperament: what he had gone through had given 
him perhaps a solid store of experience on which he could rest 
himself; he was less emotional and more mature. Miss Ley 
summed up her impressions next time she was alone with 
Frank. 

"Every Englishman has a churchwarden shut away in his 
bosom — an old man of the sea whom it is next to impossible 
to shake off: sometimes you think he's asleep or dead, but 
he's wonderfully tenacious of life, and, sooner or later, you 
find him enthroned in full possession of the soul." 



34 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"I don't know what you mean by the word soul," inter- 
rupted Frank, "but if you do, pray go on." 

"The churchwarden is waking up in Basil, and I feel sure 
he will have a very successful career. But I shall warn him 
not to let that ecclesiastical functionary get the upper hand.' 

Miss Ley waited for Basil to speak of Mrs. Murray, but 
after two days her patience was exhausted and she attacked 
him point blank. At the mention of the name his cheeks 
flamed. 

"I daren't go and see her. After what happened, I can 
never see her again. I am steeling myself to forget." 

"And are you succeeding?" she asked, drily. 

"No, no; I shall never succeed. I'm more desperately 
in love with her than ever I was. But I couldn't marry her 
now — the recollection of poor Jenny would be continually 
between us, for it was we, Hilda and I, who drove her to her 
death." 

"Don't be a melodramatic idiot," answered Miss Ley, 
sharply. "You talk like the persecuted hero of a penny nov- 
elette. Hilda's very fond of you, and she has the feminine 
common sense which alone counterbalances in the world the 
romantic folly of men. What on earth do you imagine is the 
use of making yourselves wretched so that you may cut a pic- 
turesque figure? I should have thought you were cured of 
heroics. You wrote and told me that the world was for the 
living — an idea which has truth rather than novelty to rec- 
ommend it — and do you think there is any sense in posturing 
absurdly to impress an inattentive gallery?" 

"How do I know that Hilda cares for me still? She may 
hate me because I brought on her shame and humiliation.'' 

"If I were you, I'd go and ask her," laughed Miss Ley. 
"And go with good heart, for she cared for you for your physi- 
cal attractiveness rather than for your character. And that, 
I may tell you, whatever moralists say, is infinitely more 
reliable; since you may easily be mistaken in a person's 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 35 

character, but his good looks are obvious and visible. You're 
handsomer than ever you were." 

When Basil set out to call on Mrs. Murray, Miss Ley amused 
herself with conjecturing ironically the scene of their meet- 
ing: with curling lips she noted in her mind's eye the embar- 
rassed handshake, the trivial conversation, the disconcerting 
silence, and without sympathy imagined the gradual warmth 
and the passionate declaration that followed. She moralised. 

"A common mistake of writers is to make their characters, 
in moments of great emotion, express themselves with good 
taste: nothing could be more false, for, at such times, people, 
however refined, use precisely the terms of the Family Herald. 
The utterance of violent passion is never artistic, but trite, 
ridiculous, and grotesque, vulgar often, and silly." Miss Ley 
smiled. "Probably novelists alone make love in a truly 
romantic manner; but then it's ten to one they're quoting 
from some unpublished work, or are listening intently to 
themselves in admiration of their glowing and polished 
phraseology." 

At all events, the interview between Hilda and Basil was 
eminently satisfactory, as may be seen by the following let- 
ter which some days later the young man received. 

"Mon cher enfant: It is with the greatest surprise 
and delight that I read in this morning's Post of your 
engagement to Mrs. Murray. You have fallen on your 
feet, mon ami, and I congratulate you. Don't you re- 
member that Becky Sharp said she could be very good 
on five thousand a year, and the longer I live the more 
convinced I am that this is a vraie veriU: with a house 
in Charles Street and le reste, you will find the world a very 
different place to live in; you will grow more human, 
dress better, and be less censorious. Do come to lunch- 
eon to-morrow, and bring Mrs. Murray; there will be a 
few people, and I hope it will be amusing — one o'clock. 
I'm afraid it's an extraordinary hour to lunch, but I'm 
going to be received into the Catholic Church in the 
morning, and we'er all coming on here afterward. I 



36 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

mean to assume the names of the two saints whose ex- 
ample has most assisted me in my conversion, and hence- 
forth shall sign myself, 

"Your affectionate mother, 
"Marguerite Elizabeth Claire Vizard. 

"P. S. — The Duke of St. Olpherts is going to be my 
sponsor." 

A month late, Hilda Murray and Basil were married in All 
Souls by the Rev. Collinson Farley; Miss Ley gave away the 
bride, and in the church, besides, were only the verger and 
Frank Hurrell. Afterward, in the vestry, Miss Ley shook 
the Vicar's hand. 

"I think it went off very nicely. It was charming of you 
to offer to marry them." 

"The bride is a very dear friend of mine; I was anxious to 
give her this proof of my goodwill at the beginning of her new 
life." He paused and smiled benignly, so that Miss Ley, who 
knew something of his old attachment to Hilda, wondered 
at his good spirits; she had never seen him more trim and 
imposing — he looked already every inch a bishop. "Shall I 
tell you a great secret?" he added blandly. "I am about to 
contract an alliance with Florence, Lady Newhaven. We 
shall be married at the end of the season." 

"My dear Mr. Farley, I congratulate you with all my heart. 
I see already these shapely calves encased in the gaiters 
episcopal." 

Mr. Farley smiled pleasantly, for he made a practice of 
appreciating the jests of elderly maiden ladies with ample 
means, and he could boast that to his sense of humour was 
due the luxurious appointing of his church; for no place of 
worship in the West End had more beautiful altar-cloths, 
handsomer ornaments; nowhere could be seen smarter has- 
socks for the knees of the devout, or hymn-books in a more 
excellent state of preservation. 

The newly married couple meant to spend their honey- 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 37 

moon on the river, and, having lunched in Charles Street, 
started immediately. 

"I'm thankful they don't want us to see them off at Pad- 
dington," said Frank, when he walked with Miss Ley toward 
the park. 

"Why are you in such an abominable temper?" she asked, 
smiling. "During luncheon, I was twice on the point of re- 
minding you that marriage is an event at which a certain 
degree of hilarity is not indecorous." 

Frank did not answer, and now they turned into one of the 
park gates : in that gay June weather, the place was crowded ; 
though the hour was early still, motors tore along with hur- 
ried panting, carriages passed tranquil and dignified; the 
well-dressed London throng sat about idly on chairs or 
lounged up and down looking at their neighbours, talking 
light-heartedly of the topics of the hour. Frank's eyes trav- 
elled over them slowly, and shuddering a little, his brow grew 
strangely dark. 

"During that ceremony and afterward I could think of 
nothing but Jenny. It's only eighteen months since I signed 
my name for Basil's first marriage in a dingy registry office. 
You don't know how beautiful the girl was on that day — full 
of love and gratitude and happiness; she looked forward to 
the future with such eager longing ! And now she's rotting 
underground, and the woman she hated and the man she 
adored are married, and they haven't a thought for all her 
misery. I hated Basil in his new frock coat, and Hilda Mur- 
ray, and you: I can't imagine why a sensible woman like 
you should overdress ridiculously for such a function." 

Miss Ley, conscious of the entire success of her costume, 
could afford to smile at this. 

"I have observed that, whenever you're out of humour 
with yourself, you insult me," she murmured. 

Frank went on, his face hard and set, his dark eyes glower- 
ing fiercely. 



38 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

"It all seemed so useless. It seemed that the wretched 
girl had to undergo such frighful torture merely to bring these 
two commonplace creatures together. They must have no 
imagination, or no shame — how could they marry with that 
unhappy death between them ? For, after all, it was they who 
killed her. And d'you think Basil is grateful because Jenny 
gave him her youth and her love, her wonderful beauty and 
at last her life ? He doesn't think of her. And you, too, because 
she was a barmaid, are convinced that it's a very good thing 
she's out of the way. The only excuse I can see for them is 
that they're blind instruments of fate: nature was working 
through them, obscurely — working to join them together for 
her own purposes, and, because Jenny came between, she 
crushed her ruthlessly." 

"I can find a better excuse for them than that," answered 
Miss Ley, looking gravely at Frank; "I forgive them be- 
cause they're human and weak. The longer I live, the more 
I am overwhelmed by the utter, utter weakness of men; they 
do try to do their duty, they do their best honestly, they seek 
straight ways — but they're dreadfully weak. And so I think 
one ought to be sorry for them and make all possible allow- 
ances — I'm afraid it sounds rather idiotic, but I find the words 
now most frequently on my lips are: forgive them, for they 
know not what they do." 

They walked silently, and after a while Frank stopped 
on a sudden and faced Miss Ley. He pulled out his watch. 

"It's quite early yet, and we have the afternoon before us. 
Will you come with me to the cemetery where Jenny is 
buried?" 

"Why not let the dead lie? Let us think of life, rather 
than of death." 

Frank shook his head. 

"I must go. I couldn't rest otherwise. I can't bear that, 
on this day, she should be entirely forgotten." 

"Very well. I will come with you." 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 39 

They turned round and came out of the park; Frank 
hailed a cab, and they started. They passed the pompous 
mansions of the great, sedate, and magnificent, and, driving 
north, traversed long streets of smaller dwellings, dingy and 
gray notwithstanding the brightness of the sky; they went 
on, it seemed, interminably, and each street strangely, awfully, 
resembled its predecessor; they came to roads where each 
house was separate and had its garden, and there were trees 
and flowers — they were the habitations of merchants and stock- 
brokers, and had a trim, respectable look, self-satisfied and 
smug; but these they left behind for more crowded parts; 
and now it seemed a different London, more vivacious, more 
noisy; the way was thronged with trams and 'buses, and 
there were coster -barrows along the pavements; the shops 
were gaudy and cheap, and the houses mean; they drove 
through slums, with children playing merrily on the curb and 
women in dirty aprons, blousy and dishevelled, lounging 
about their doorsteps. At length they reached a broad, 
straight road, white and dusty and unshaded, and knew their 
destination was at hand, for occasionally they passed a shop 
where grave-stones were made ; and an empty hearse trundled 
by, the mutes huddled on the box, laughing loudly, smoking 
after the fatigue of their accustomed work. The cemetery 
came in sight, and they stopped at iron gates and walked in: 
it was a vast place, crowded with every imaginable kind of 
funeral ornament which glistened white and cold in the sun; 
it was hideous, vulgar, and sordid, and one shuddered to think 
of the rude material minds of those who could bury folk they 
loved in that restless ground wherein was neither peace nor 
silence; they might prate of the soul's immortality, but 
surely in their hearts they looked upon the dead as common 
clay, or they would never have borne that they should lie 
till the Day of Judgment in that unhallowed spot. There 
was about it a gross, businesslike air that was infinitely de- 
pressing. Frank and Miss Ley walked through, passing a 



4 o THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

i 

knot of persons, black-robed, about an open grave, where a 
curate uttered hastily, with the boredom of long habit, the 
most solemn words that man has ever penned: 

"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and 
is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down, like a -flower; 
he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. 1 ' 

Miss Ley, pale of face, took Frank's arm and hurried on. 
Here and there dead flowers were piled upon new graves; 
here and there the earth was but freshly turned. They came 
at last to where Jenny lay — an oblong stone of granite whereon 
was cut a simple cross; and Frank gave a sudden cry, for it 
was covered at that moment, so that only the cross was out- 
lined, with red roses. For a while they stared in silence, 
amazed. 

"They're quite fresh," said Miss Ley; "they were put here 
this morning." She turned to Frank and looked at him 
slowly. "You said they'd forgotten — and they came on their 
wedding day and laid roses on her grave." 

"D'you think she came, too?" 

"I'm sure of it. Ah, Frank, I think one should forgive 
them a good deal for that ! I told you that they did strive to 
do right, and if they fell it was only because they were human 
and very weak. Don't you think it's better for us to be 
charitable? I wonder if we should have surmounted any 
better than they did their great difficulties and their great 
temptations." 

Frank made no reply, and for a long time they contem- 
plated those rich red roses and thought of Hilda's tender hands 
laying them gently on the poor woman's cold grave-stone. 

"You're right," he said at last. "I can forgive them a 
good deal because they had this thought. I hope they will 
be very happy." 

" I think it's a good omen." She laid her hand on Frank's 
arm. "And now let us go away — for we are living, and the 
dead have nothing to say to us. You brought me here, and 



THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 41 

now I want to take you on farther — to show you something 
more." 

He did not understand, but followed obediently till they 
came to the cab; Miss Ley told the driver to go straight on, 
away from London, till she bade him stop. And then, leav- 
ing behind them that sad place of death, they came suddenly 
into the open ; the highway had the pleasant brown hardness 
of a country road, and it was bordered by a hawthorn hedge; 
green fields stretched widely on either side, and they might 
have been a hundred miles from London town. Miss Ley 
stopped the cab, and told the man to wait whilst she and her 
friend walked on. 

"Don't look back," she said to Frank, "only look forward. 
Look at the trees and the meadows." 

The sky was singularly blue, and the dulcet breeze bore 
gracious savours of the country ; there was a suave limpidity 
of the air which chased away all ugly thoughts. Both of 
them, walking quickly, breathed with wide lungs, inspiring 
eagerly the radiance of that summer afternoon. On a turn 
of the road Miss Ley gave a quick cry of delight, for she saw 
the hedge suddenly ablaze with wild roses. 

"Have you a knife?" she said. "Do cut some." 

And she stood while he gathered a great bunch of the sim- 
ple fresh flowers; he gave them to her, and she held them 
with both hands. 

"I love them because they're the same roses as grow in 
Rome from the sarcophagi in the gardens; they grow out of 
those old coffins to show us that life always triumphs over 
death. What do I care for illness and old age and disease ! 
The world may be full of misery and disillusion, it may not 
give a tithe of what we ask; it may offer hatred instead of 
love — disappointment, wretchedness, triviality, and heaven 
knows what. But there is one thing that compensates for 
all the rest, that takes away the merry-go-round from a sordid 
show, and gives it a meaning, a solemnity, and a magnificence 



4 2 THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 

which make it worth while to live. And for that one thing, 
all we suffer is richly overpaid." 

"And what the Dickens is that?" asked Frank, smiling. 

Miss Ley looked at him with laughing eyes, holding out 
the roses, her cheeks flushed. 

"Why, beauty, you dolt," she cried gaily. "Beauty." 



The End 



»CL TD CAT 01V. 

>EP. 19 1904 



Stf 



.2* 



itf* 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 






014 705 083 5 £ 



